Page 4 of Ask Me Something
“You know, it went okay. Fourteen wanted my number and I narrowed the list down to a couple I may contact,” Catherine provided. “I think I definitely had more fun than Sasha.”
He gave me an amused look. “I think that you ladies need to get out of New York and come down South where men know how to treat a lady.”
She grinned. “You could be onto something. Maybe that’s part of my problem; I’ve been in this city too long.”
“So how many men wanted your number, Sasha?” Brian asked.
“Uh, only a couple,” I lied. “Not a huge surprise that I don’t make a very good first impression.”
He studied me for a moment and I fidgeted with the scrutiny. He could always tell when I wasn’t telling the truth.
“RBF strikes again?” he teased finally.
“For your information I resisted it quite nicely.”
“What is RBF?” Catherine queried.
Slightly embarrassed, I was about to answer, but he beat me to it.
“It’s a disorder that affects one in ten women. Unfortunately, the majority of them aren’t even aware that they suffer.” He sounded like a damn infomercial.
I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. “It stands for Resting Bitch Face,” I said to Catherine.
“Uh, what does that mean exactly?” she inquired.
“It means that when I’m sitting somewhere, minding my own business and not actively engaged in conversation, evidently I have a look about me that signifies I’m bitchy. Brian was brave enough to point it out to me a few years back.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she frowned at him disapprovingly. “That isn’t very nice.”
He blushed and glanced toward me. “I didn’t say it to be mean. Sasha was asking for feedback regarding client impressions. And she didn’t believe me at first.”
“So what convinced you?” Catherine asked, looking between the two of us.
“He snapped a picture of me,” I admitted with a sigh.
Brian chuckled.
Catherine shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t buy it. I had a first impression with her. I thought she was poised and professional.”
He glanced toward me and grinned. “Oh, I’m sure she was. But it isn’t when she’s on. It’s when she isn’t actively engaged. Thus the ‘Resting’ part. Show her, Sasha.”
“I’m not showing anyone anything. Matter of fact, I think I’m cured,” I quipped.
He pulled out his phone and started to scroll through. “There is no cure, only the ability to cope with the disorder. I wonder if they have support groups for this type of thing.”
I lightly punched his shoulder and was curious why he’d taken out his phone. He was all about manners and wasn’t normally one to have his device out at the table. “What are you doing?”
“Attempting to locate the picture in order to show Catherine. I thought I’d kept it—Hey—” he protested.
I snagged his phone out of his hand, horrified at the thought he might still have that photo. I’d never admit it to him, but I’d felt humiliated when he’d shown me that image. To see yourself through someone else’s eyes critically wasn’t easy to take. But when you built up a tough exterior, you had to be ready for criticism and teasing. “You’d better not still have that picture,” I warned, looking at his screen.
He laughed, enjoying the fact that I was distressed. “No, I was only teasing. RBF is in remission. I believe you.”
“If I find out that you kept that photo…”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I promise I don’t have it.”
His phone buzzed in my hand. Before I could help myself, I glanced down and read the incoming text message from someone named Jamie.